


Only for You

by Cascaper



Series: Keeping Composure [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Starlight Celebration, gift-searching, in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cascaper/pseuds/Cascaper
Summary: In which the Warrior turns her hand to her most difficult quest yet.





	Only for You

_All the waters of this sea cannot match his eyes._

Staring up at the dome that encompassed Tamamizu, the Warrior shook her head as she realized she was daydreaming yet again over Alphinaud. It didn’t take much, honestly; any pretty thing that caught her eye brought him back to the forefront of her mind. They’d been together a few moons now- _moons!_ She could almost believe her luck.

The Starlight Celebration was nearly upon them, and [Name] had it in mind to surprise her darling with a present before the festival was out. Trouble was, they were still keeping their relationship discreet, which rather ruled out consulting any of the other Scions for help. (Although she could just hear Alisaie: “A gift for my brother? I should have thought the best one was simply to stay alive.” But merely breathing into a bottle, corking and presenting it would produce a chuckle at best- far from the result she wanted.)

A simple man of simple tastes, her Alphinaud. He seemed perfectly satisfied with his wardrobe, and his library, as they stood. If one asked him were there aught he wanted in the world, he might say something like “peace, prosperity and the continued freedom of Ala Mhigo,” or he might only raise an eyebrow and ask to be passed the pen he’d dropped. Nevertheless, there had to be something she could give him.

Something special, something to make his face light up, that fine-drawn mouth falling open before blooming into a smile… Such an enticing vision simply must be brought to reality. If only she could figure out how.

***

_All the snow in Coerthas cannot outshine his hair._

She had come to the Jeweled Crozier, hoping vaguely that it might give her inspiration. Unfortunately the contents of the stalls had not proved helpful, nor had listening to the snatches of conversation among passing customers. Plenty of talk on food and toys, but not a word of more romantic things. _Then again,_ the Warrior reflected, _that’s not something one goes shouting to the world, is it?_ Likely if anyone else here were in her spot, they’d be well certain of what they were after before heading out to market. Trying to carry out a mission she’d thought of herself was more difficult than it had any right to be…

“I say, old girl, is that you?”

She whipped about to see none other than Emmanellain de Fortemps, who laughed and held up his hands. “Steady on, [Name]. We come in peace.”

Honoroit, ever present at his master’s side, now piped up. “Greetings, Mistress [Surname.] Whatever brings you to our fair city today?”

A dozen answers raced through her head, none of them right. “Oh, er… shopping.” She waved a hand generally about to illustrate her point.

Emmanellain’s eyes suddenly sparked. “Shopping, eh? So are we. This young scamp has a few admirers he’s got to keep happy, you see.”

“M-my lord!” protested Honoroit, turning pink and unable to hide it, due to the several parcels in his arms. “Mistress [Surname], you mustn’t listen to him. We are only here to gather some supplies for the holiday feast at House Fortemps.”

“Fear not, my boy,” Emmanellain said cheerfully, “your secret is safe with the Warrior- isn’t it, old girl? Of course it is. But say,” he went on, “was there anything you were looking for in particular? Perhaps we could keep you company whilst you find it.”

She felt a sudden twinge of panic in her gut. “Er…”

“Really, my lord, it could be personal,” Honoroit pointed out.

“Honoroit,” Emmanellain said mock-sternly, “if I do not recognize when a friend is in need of assistance, I am through as a gentleman, let alone a lord. And personal- why, I live to help with such matters. How about it, old girl?” He barely paused to take in her uncertain expression before beaming. “Excellent!” Beckoning her aside from the main thoroughfare, he leaned in, dropping his voice. “I gather from your manner that this is something for your sweetheart- oh, no need to name names. Now, what do they like? Trinkets? Sweets? Books, perchance?”

“Well, er…”

“Haven’t known each other long, eh?” The young de Fortemps nodded sagely. “Presents at this stage are always a tricky prospect. Right then, try this another way: what are _they_ like? Perhaps we can get something from that.”

[Name] took a deep breath. “Um. He’s… He’s beautiful, first of all. Probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Not just his face, either. He’s intelligent, and well-spoken, and really dignified- but he isn’t serious all the time. He’s really quite passionate, and-” She stopped. “This isn’t helping, is it. I’m just babbling on…”

“Perhaps,” Honoroit suggested, “you ought simply to write him what you feel. Sometimes a letter can do as well or better than a gift.”

This hit the Warrior like an anvil of obvious. If there was one thing Alphinaud was keen about, it was words. “Of course. Not a letter, but- of course!” she half shouted, thrilled, before catching herself. She clapped the young manservant on the shoulder. “Honoroit, you’re a genius!”

The “genius” blinked, trying to keep from dropping his packages. “I- I am glad to be of help, Mistress [Surname]…”

“[Forename] is right, Honoroit,” Emmanellain said, with equal delight. “You are more than a credit to my teachings. Hells, if I don’t watch out, you’ll have half the ladies in town lining up-” But what else he said, the Warrior did not find out, for she was well on her way back to the Rising Stones, ready to set pen to paper and make her darling swoon.

***

_All the… spriggans in the Shroud are ashen and shabby next to his lashes…_

She had books worth of sentiment and a heart overflowing with affection, but in her initial excitement of so many bells ago, [Name] had forgotten that she was by no means a wandering minstrel to turn out rhymes at the drop of a hat. She stretched her ink-streaked hands toward the ceiling, then slumped down in her seat. The pool of crumpled parchment around her chair rustled softly as her feet slid through it.

It had to be a ballad, or at least a poem in the style of one, because he loved them. He wasn’t a singer, but he recited his favorite lyrics with such feeling that it was almost like singing. She could listen for bells, floating on the tide of his voice through verses of every kind. Yes, no mere letter would do as a present; she would finish this poem or bust. Just as soon as she had a beginning.

Even listing his charms had its limits- as ballads relied rather much on imagery. Oh, his hair was like snow, his eyes like the sea, all well and good… only there was more to him than that: the way his porcelain-and-pearl figure completely belied the steel within him, and the way he could spring into action on less than an instant’s warning if need be. Simply holding his hand made her float on air. Gods, there was no one else in the world like her Alphinaud.

 _No one else in the world._ Hm. Maybe she could start there. She seized a fresh sheet, sharpened and dipped a quill. Back to work…

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, [Name] stood up from her desk. The ink was everywhere now, smeared over her forehead, her nose, even her ear- but she had what she needed.

***

_All the primals in the realm would be easier to face than this._

It was a few days into Starlight now, and the Warrior was finally certain she could alter her work no further. The fair copy, rolled up and bound with string, had been burning a hole in her pocket all day; even now, as she waited for her dear, she half wished she could put off the presentation. But she’d sent Alphinaud a note this very morning asking him to meet her at half-past eleven tonight, beside the Reach’s main aetheryte, and she couldn’t back out now.

-Gods help her, here he came, his face a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. As he reached her, he immediately slipped an arm about her waist, giving a brief squeeze by way of greeting.

“Hey there,” she said, feeling a bit light-headed, what with the yols flapping in her chest. “How are you?”

“Most intrigued,” he replied. “It is not every day that you summon me, after all. Are we going somewhere?”

His tone was playful, and she had to smile. “Close your eyes,” she told him. When he did, she took his hand, and they began to walk. _Legs, don’t fail me now…_

“May I look now?” Alphinaud asked, as they came to a stop a few minutes later. The Warrior nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her, and swallowed. Her throat had suddenly gone dry.

“Any time,” she managed.

He opened his eyes, then inhaled softly. “This is-”

“My room, yes.” Oh, how her skin flamed, head to toe. “I, er. I have something for you. Do sit down? Anywhere you like…” _Ha. It’s either the bed, or the stool in the corner. Thal’s balls, woman._

She’d been so caught up in the need for utmost privacy that she hadn’t stopped to consider the implications of bringing him here. Well, the coeurl was out of the bag now, and Alphinaud had chosen the stool. A slight pinkness showed at the tips of his ears, but (as ever) his composure seemed otherwise intact.

“Right,” she said, pulling out the fateful scroll and slipping it free of its string. “Here- here it is.” She forced her eyes down to the unrolled paper and read:

 _“I’ve traveled far across the realm_  
_And seen sights strange and rare,_  
_But the finest sight of all I’ve seen_  
_Is a lad with snow-white hair._  


_“I’ve talked with folk the world around_  
_And heard tales old and new,_  
_But the finest tale of all is that_  
_Of my lad with eyes of blue._  


_“I’ve fought through fire, frost and flood,_  
_And won all manner of prize,_  
_But I’d be content with my white-haired lad,_  
_With the glance of his deep blue eyes._  


_“Yea, though my armor be tattered and torn_  
_And my weapon be snapped in twain,_  
_If I have the love of my white-haired lad_  
_I’ll always return again.”_  


It was lucky she knew the words nearly by heart, for by the end of it her hands were trembling violently. Lowering them, she looked up at him once more.

Alphinaud’s eyes were a little too bright, and he was holding one hand to his chest. The other was half in his pocket, as if he had meant to take something out of it but forgotten what. [Name] felt an entirely different sort of panic now, as she realized that tears were threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Alphinaud, I’m sorry- are you all right?” She flew to his side, poem fluttering to the floor in her haste. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- are you-”

He threw his arms around her and clung as if for dear life, whispering her name. She hugged him back, stroking his hair with one hand, aghast that she had made him cry. Oh, this wasn’t at all what she’d meant to do. Only when his grip finally relaxed did she pull back so as to look him in the face once more.

Sure enough, telltale tracks gleamed in the lamplight, but he was smiling now. Before she could say anything else, he spoke. “I am- I apologize for frightening you… It is only that I was so moved. I…” He paused, wiping his eyes on one sleeve. “That was beautiful, darling. I had not known you were such a poet.”

“Oh,” she said, relief flooding through her. “Well. Only for you, you know.” Retrieving the paper from where it had fallen, she rolled it carefully back up. “Happy Starlight.”

This brought another gasp, slightly guilty. “Oh, but- I didn’t-”

[Name] shook her head, gently pressing the scroll into his hand. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to surprise you, and I did, and that’s enough for me.” Still he seemed uneasy. “Truly,” she insisted.

Alphinaud hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right, then.” He slid her poem into the breast of his jacket, parchment crackling. “But pray allow me to thank you properly.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If I could stick a picture right here, it'd be of Alphinaud at the campfire in the Churning Mists... but I have not an imgur to link such an image. Just know that that's about the look he's got on during that last line of dialogue.


End file.
